Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance (21 page)

J
eanine couldn’t return
to her apartment. She couldn’t deal with anything. She could barely drive and stay on the road, but she had to escape the ranch and all the memories.

Kirk was gone. He’d rejected her, leaving a bigger hole in her heart than she could handle. It had been too good to be true. He’d appeared caring and concerned—a real friend, but he’d seen through her, and now, all he felt was disgust.

Disgust for the whore who’d been born to a whore. A girl who traded sex for goodies like boots and makeup. A girl who posed naked so men could gratify themselves with her image. A worthless girl who no one could love unless she put out.

She was all wrung out and she no longer cared. Kirk had been a dream, a fantasy, completely unrealistic, and of course it had crashed and burned. She’d known all along he’d flame out. He thought he could start a project and save her. It no longer mattered.

Hours later, Jeanine pulled up to the county jail where they were holding George Simpson. She was bone tired, hadn’t slept a wink since Kirk left, hadn’t eaten a morsel of food, and barely drank a drop of water.

But she had to see Simpson. To put the monster behind her once and for all. To tell him to his face.

The warden was surprised when she showed up at the visitor’s booth.

“I’ll have to check if Mr. Simpson would like to see you.”

“He will. But in case he won’t, tell him he doesn’t scare me. I’ve removed him from my memories. I’ve cut him out like cancer cells.”

“I’ll bring him to you if you want,” the warden said.

A few minutes later, Jeanine was escorted into the visiting booth. Simpson was already sitting on the other side of the bullet proof Plexiglas partition.

He was shackled, hands to feet, and when he saw her, he narrowed his eyes and grinned.

She picked up the phone receiver and so did he.

“I knew you still cared about me,” he said in a sickening sweet voice. “There’s not a day when I don’t wake up with you first thing on my mind. I think about you and dream about you.”

“I don’t give a shit about you.” Jeanine said, gritting her teeth. “I loathe you. Hate you. You’ve stolen everything from me. I have nothing left for you or anyone. I came to see you to prove to you that I don’t care about you. You don’t scare me. You don’t affect me.”

“I’ll always be in your heart. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ve loved you since the day you were born.” He blinked at her as if he were an angelic being, showering her with rays of love and affection.

“Liar. You’re a filthy, dirty pervert. You tricked the system into letting you take in foster kids.”

“I’m your father, Jeanine.” His voice slithered from his throat, smooth and soft. “Not your foster father, but your father.”

Jeanine felt like a Sherman tank had dropped on her. Her stomach plunged to the floor, and her heart was crushed into a bloody pulp. Her father? The horrible monster was her father?

“No-no. You can’t be.” She moved back, stretching the wire of the receiver. “You’re lying. I moved in with you and Karen when I was fourteen.”

“That’s because I’d lost you to the system when you were four. You remember that nice police officer who you were so fond of? The one who gave you her badge? She took you away from me, and it was years before I could get you back. Your mother did me a favor by not naming me on the birth certificate, and the courts never kept good records, what with all the people with the same name running around.”

Jeanine clutched the receiver tight, her mouth wide with a silent scream. George was her father? He was the one who’d raised her until she was four?

“Who’s my mother? Is it Karen? Are you and Karen my parents? What about Tina and Madge? Are they my sisters?”

“Your mother left you with me. She was a whore. It wasn’t easy raising you by myself. I was a ball player and I had to travel. I hired a nanny to take care of you, but you were a bad girl. Just like your mother. A bad, bad girl.”

Jeanine gawked at the man. He was old. Much older than when he’d gone to jail. He could be lying, but then again, how would he know about the police officer and her badge?

“Who’s my mother?” Jeanine persisted.

“She doesn’t matter. I’m the one who loved you enough to find you. As soon as I lost you to the system, I retired from baseball and married Karen. I had Madge so I could be a real father, and then I applied to be a foster parent. I was an upstanding citizen. I taught high school. I coached America’s favorite sport. I ran with the prep school crowd. I could have run for office. I could have gone far, if I hadn’t cared so much about you.”

“Me? No, you did all this to yourself.” Jeanine pointed a finger at the plastic partition, jabbing it. “You are a rapist. A child abuser. You don’t know what love is.”

“Oh, but I do. I love you, Jeanine. I taught you everything. I taught you to love me.”

“You taught me a lie. If you’re really my father, you should have protected me. You wouldn’t have violated me and abused me.”

Simpson’s eyebrows tented in a look of false concern. “Who’s brainwashed you, sweetcakes? I never hurt you. I loved you and protected you. It was always me and you, together, the two of us, and you were my perfect little girl.”

“No, you called me a whore.” Jeanine’s voice was dry and cracked. “You spanked me for wetting my panties.”

“I was only trying to make you perfect. Remove your mother from you. She was the whore, not you. I tried to beat it out of her, but she was too far gone. She was marred, imperfect, a fallen creature. I couldn’t let you follow in her footsteps, so I kept you safe. I gave you love, my protection, my heart, and my soul. You were perfect, Jeanine. My perfect lover, and you loved me too. You did and you still do.”

Jeanine stared at Simpson through the plastic as if she were looking into a funhouse mirror. Everything he said was distorted, false, but at the same time, a tiny lurch in her heart ached to believe he was right. That he, of all people, loved her, no matter how flawed she was, no matter what she’d done.

“See? You know it’s true,” George continued in his honeyed voice. “You know how much we loved each other. The times we spent together. I’d love nothing more than to spoil you, to buy things for you, to take you places, to make you laugh, and kiss and hug you, so you’re never alone, never frightened, never scared.”

“No.” Jeanine jerked her head, jolting herself from the lies he painted for her. She pointed her finger at him, shuddering at the horror of his delusions. “If you loved me as a father should, you would not have slept with me. End of story. I don’t love you, Mr. Simpson. I don’t hate you. You are nothing to me. Nothing at all.”

She hung up the receiver and knocked on the door, signaling the guard to let her out. And walk out she did, on wobbly legs that would barely hold her up. Her entire life had been based on a sick man’s false reality.

Would she ever be free of him? Could she ever look herself in the mirror and figure out who she really was?

The daughter of a lunatic or a survivor of a madman’s fantasies.

T
he tracker app was off
. Kirk thumbed through his phone and looked through the history. Nothing. Jeanine had removed herself from his friend list. Dammit. Why had he walked away from her? What kind of friend was he to leave her hanging?

What kind of lover was he to not take her in his arms and comfort her?

What kind of man was he?

An arrogant, egotistical douchebag.

After berating himself, he got to work.

He texted his mother.
Stop using Matt for your own entertainment. Jeanine is off-limits and if he or you publish a book about her and Simpson, I’ll post all the pictures I took of you and your men. Don’t forget. You gave me a digital camera when they first came out.

His phone rang a few seconds later. It was his mother. So, she finally deigned to call him now that he was threatening her?

“I mean it, Mom,” Kirk said before she could say anything. “You touch Jeanine, and all your dirty deeds will be all over the Internet.”

“No, you listen to me.” His mother’s vituperative voice cut through the line. “Your brother needs to make something of himself. He’s been drifting around doing this or that. Don’t think I don’t know why he’s a baseball scout.”

“Throwing Jeanine Jewell under the bus is not going to be his ticket to stardom. You know who George is? He’s a child rapist. A molester.”

“He was framed by a teenage vixen. I know all about it from my friend Karen. She says all George did was paint the girl, and she blew everything out of proportion.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Kirk raised his fist and shook it at the wall. “What kind of witch are you? There’s something called age of consent. No one will buy that book. Matt’s entire reputation will be ruined. All for what? So you can enjoy the soap opera? Get your popcorn and munch on someone else’s bones.”

“It would have given Matt something meaningful to do. You have your baseball. Your father has his legal practice.”

“I’ll find Matt something to do, but mark my words, it’ll be nothing to do with you. I’m done with you. Finished. From now on, you’re not to contact me or interfere with me. If you do, the pictures go out.”

“You’re lying about the pictures.”

“You wish.” Kirk affected a careless chuckle. “You gave me all the sex education I’ll ever need. I’ve got pictures and videos with sound. Bet you wish you never tried to buy me off with expensive gifts. Now it has all come back to bite you.”

He hung up before she could say one more word.

J
eanine was
in a daze after leaving the jailhouse. She hadn’t eaten since the night before and her entire body was shaking. Somehow, she wobbled to her car and let herself sink into the driver’s seat.

It couldn’t be possible that he was her father. He was lying to her. Playing with her mind. Throwing her off balance. He, who should be worried about a long jail sentence, was actually relaxed and mocking her.

And she’d lost control, raved like a lunatic. It hadn’t bothered him one bit. He’d sat there smirking in that knowing manner, as if he held all the chips.

Maybe he did, because right now, the chips were all gone. She had no stomach to go back to her apartment. It was forever tainted by Simpson’s invasion. She couldn’t go back to work, because Marcia was expecting the ranch to have done wonders for her. She couldn’t go see Dr. Sparks, because she’d have to admit she’d spent her time at the Recovery Ranch fucking her head off with Kirk.

Kirk.

Tears welled from her eyes at the thought of him. Her fingers and toes ached and she held herself, rocking side to side as her body shuddered with an attack of sobs.

She shouldn’t be crying over him. He’d been a phony. A liar. A player. She should remind herself that he’d had an ulterior motive—something to do with Simpson, who’d been his coach. He’d respected Simpson. His brother had helped Simpson break into her apartment.

And then there were the letters. Kirk had had the letters and he had read them. She’d been too swept up by her hormones and Kirk’s charm that she had let him talk his way out of the letters—something about his mother helping George? But then, what if it was Kirk? What if he were also on George’s side?

She palmed her face and let the tears out, weeping and wailing in the privacy of her car. If only Kirk hadn’t been so wonderful, appeared so caring, and paid so much attention to her, she wouldn’t be so devastated. She should be angry, furious, and disgusted with him.

But she wept, and mourned, and grieved, because Kirk had seemed so sincere, and she’d wanted to believe him so much. That she had a chance, a hope of being normal, a wish that a man would truly love her, love a damaged woman who had issues and could wreak havoc on that man’s life, but that he would still love her. Love her unconditionally.

Except it could never be. No one could love a monster like her—a ruined woman. Because truth? She was a victim of abuse, and she no longer needed the mask. Kirk had unmasked her for the pathetic little whore she was.

She took off the leather jacket she was wearing—Kirk’s jacket. It had been her security blanket and she’d slept with it except for the nights she spent with him.

This jacket would be all she had left of her hopes and dreams. She should return it to him, even though she couldn’t bear to part with it because he’d draped it over her shoulders the first night they’d met—almost as a symbol of putting her under his protection.

Except she didn’t need him. She could protect herself—protect her heart. She took a deep breath, and another one. She straightened her spine and pulled her shoulders back, visualizing the armor materializing over her body. Her shell would have to grow back harder. She would never, ever allow anyone to pierce through it again.

She stilled the wobble of her lip and checked the rear view mirror, then drove to The Hot Corner. No matter what, she was still a business owner, a friend, and Auntie J to a precious little girl and baby Boo. She had her place, and she wasn’t going to let George Simpson or Kirk Kennedy disrupt the life she’d scrabbled so hard to put together.

She was fine, dammit. Just fine.

K
irk’s brother
looked up from his laptop as Kirk sauntered into a popular coffee shop frequented by sports agents, scouts, and reporters.

Before he could approach his brother’s table, a reporter sidled up to him. “There’s the hometown hero. How’s your leg?”

“It’s getting better,” Kirk said. “I’m going to start working out in about a month.”

“Think you can get back on the roster by September?” another man asked.

“I’m confident,” Kirk said. He eyed his brother who was still slumped in his seat, looking nervous. “Actually guys, I’d love to talk, but I’m taking my brother to the ballpark this afternoon.”

“Unfair advantage,” one of the agents commented. “He always gets your opinion on every pitcher and catcher.”

Kirk ignored the sour comment and made his way to the table his brother was sitting at. “You want to talk here or come with me to the ballpark?”

“Ballpark.” Matt closed his laptop and followed Kirk out the door of the coffee shop. “Look, I’m sorry about the book deal.”

“There’s not going to be a deal for a rapist. No one wants to give him a platform to tell his story. There’s no sympathy. You’ll only ruin your career being associated with him.”

“But why would Mom want me to do the memoir?” Matt’s large brown eyes widened. “She said she’d be proud of me if I got a book deal.”

“Right, just like she’d be proud of you if you stopped being gay. Don’t you get it? She’s manipulating you to make you do things for her, but she doesn’t care about you.”

“That’s not true. She’s my mother, no matter what,” Matt retorted.

“She’s no longer my mother,” Kirk said as he unlocked the cab of his F-150 pickup truck. “I thought you ought to know.”

“But …” Matt’s jaw slackened. “Don’t you love her?”

Kirk got into the driver’s side and turned on the ignition. “Love has nothing to do with this situation. She’s crossed the line so many times, it isn’t even funny. Tell me she didn’t park you at a babysitter when she needed to have a screw, or maybe she just told you to stay in your room, and sometimes you did, and sometimes you didn’t.”

Matt’s face turned pale as he shook his head. “No. I never looked. I never watched.”

“I did and it’s okay if you did, too,” Kirk said. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m willing to forgive you on this book deal, but you have to go into therapy to deal with how she treats you. She’s emotionally abusive to you.”

“You can’t say that.” Matt looked horrified. “Mom might be weird, but she’s never abused me.”

Kirk pulled into traffic and turned toward the ballpark. “You’ll realize it once you learn the definition of emotional abuse. Then you’ll see why I’ve cut her off.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Matt sat in the passenger seat with his head bowled in his hands. “I want Mom to love me and accept me for who I am.”

“We all want that, Matt. But we need to first love ourselves and accept ourselves.”

They drove in silence until they reached the Rattlers’ Spring training stadium. An expectant look came over Matt’s face as he saw the players stretching and warming up. He’d always loved baseball, but couldn’t hit a pitch if his life depended on it.

Except the guy had a brain like a database, and he filled it with stats.

“Want to sit up in the press box while I give you the low down on each batter?” Kirk patted his brother on the back as they walked toward the bleachers. He’d make sure Matt had success in his chosen occupation. It was the least he could do to show his brother that he loved and accepted him unconditionally.